


Whispered

by TheDarkSideofEnergon



Series: Unrelated Prompts [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Poetry, Romance, Romantic Gestures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 06:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20902781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkSideofEnergon/pseuds/TheDarkSideofEnergon
Summary: Just a little bit of Jazz doing little romantic things for Prowl and Prowl not being quite as oblivious as he might seem.





	Whispered

Jazz stuck his helm through the movable ceiling panel in Prowl’s office, looking around to make sure his conjunx wasn’t there. Sure enough, Optimus had come through, calling Prowl away to his office to discuss something that could probably have gone through inboxes, but Optimus had calmly, in that deep bass of his, insisted required Prowl’s personal, physical attention.

Dropping to the floor, Jazz pulled the bouquet of roses (red, suggested by Carly) from his subspace and placed them on the desk. He quickly reshelved all the datapads that were lying out, sorted the outgoing ones into an ordered stack to take down to the distribution center, and rearranged the incoming ones by importance. Finally, he put a chilled cube of energon with platinum flakes on top (from his personal stash that he was pretty sure even Prowl didn’t know about and that he rationed carefully) in front of the roses and stood back, smiling before quickly disappearing into the ceiling, replacing the ceiling panel and peeking through a small hole he’d drilled a long, long time ago. (Prowl did know about that, and let it be because only he and Jazz knew).

Prowl would never think to do anything like this for Jazz. But Jazz didn’t mind. It was his conjunx’s reaction that he craved the most, not any sort of reciprocation. Jazz would be content to do these things for Prowl for the next fifty vorns, even if Prowl didn’t know he was the one doing them. 

In fact, for the first couple vorns of their acquaintance, Prowl  _ hadn’t _ known who was doing these things for him.

Jazz was pretty sure Prowl had been convinced at first it was an assassination attempt or bribery.

Amused by his recollections of their courtship, the next hour passed quickly until Prowl came back, doorwings and walk stiff. Jazz watched as Prowl stopped suddenly, seeing the roses and energon. 

Jazz watched as Prowl’s signature scowl slowly vanished, replaced by a tiny smile as he sat down at his desk, opened the energon cube, and gently pulled one of the roses out of the bouquet, leaning forwards just a little onto his desk as he looked up at Jazz’s little hideaway, relaxing his doorwings as he brought the rose to his olfactory and then took a sip of the energon with that same little sappy smile on his face.

Mission complete, Jazz blew his conjunx a kiss (even though Prowl couldn’t see him), and silently wiggled backward until he was back to his own office, where he sat in the middle of his organized chaos and grinned to himself.

* * *

On another occasion, Jazz was sitting in their living space when Prowl stumbled in, doorwings dropped almost completely as he nearly collapsed on their sofa. Jazz stood quickly and came over.

“Ya okay, Prowler?”

“Ratchet cleared me.”

Jazz sat next to Prowl’s hip, turning on his magnets and running them over Prowl’s back, hinges, and doorwings, not intending to arouse, but soothe. Sure enough, the doorwings slowly stretched back out to a normal position, not stiff, not drooping, just relaxed. “Tha’s not really an answer, Prowler.”

“I crashed again.” Prowl said, simply. Jazz’s hands stilled.

“An’ they didn’t call m’?” Jazz’s tone was dark, promising pain to everyone up to but not including Ratchet.

Jazz had some level of sanity left, after all.

Prowl waved a hand vaguely. “I was still relatively cognizant. I told them not to bother.”

Jazz vented as he began moving his hands again. “Tha’ doesn’t matter, Prowler. I want t’ be there for ya.”

“And you are.” Prowl twitched his doorwings. “But I saw no reason to call you away when there was no reason to. What happens the first time you are on a mission when I suffer a crash and I require your presence to recover?”

Jazz hung his helm. “I know, Prowler.” Jazz slid one hand up a doorwing, making Prowl’s engine purr. “Still scares m’ every time I don’t know.”

Prowl turned over, looking up into Jazz’s worried face. “I am fine, Jazz. And if it makes you happy, I will ping you once I am fully online again if another crash like this occurs.”

Jazz nodded, slowly. “I’ll take tha’ deal, Prowler.” He leaned down and gave Prowl a soft kiss on the lips. “I know ya used t’ do this on yer own. I just worry.”

“You should not.” 

“But I do.” Jazz traced Prowl’s face. “Now, are ya goin’ t’ let m’ finish yer back?”

Prowl rolled back over, and Jazz let a smile come back to his face as Prowl’s engine settled into a soft hum, hiccuping slightly once Prowl had fallen into recharge. Pulling a soft blanket from the back of the sofa, Jazz spread it over him and dropped another kiss to his chevron, turning off the light and leaving the couch full of a purring Datsun.

* * *

Jazz sat on the floor, strumming on his electro-bass. He’d found it on a salvage mission back in Staniz, and while it had been a little rusty, he’d managed to scrounge up enough supplies to get it back in working order. Finally off-duty, he was relearning the instrument he had played in bars and on street corners so long ago, earning just a little more shanix to get him his next meal. He checked his chronometer. It was still two hours until Prowl would be off-duty. He vented lightly. Then a thought occurred to Jazz, and a smile grew on his face as he stood up, cradled his instrument in the crook of his arm, and slipped out of his door, heading toward Prowl’s office. A few ‘Bots waved or asked him when the concert was, and Jazz just said “Prowl.” They raised their hands in concession and let him pass without further comment, most smiling after him as they devised his intention. They would have their turn to hear Jazz of Staniz, they knew. But his conjunx had first rights.

Finally rounding the corner to Prowl’s office, Jazz hesitated before pushing the buzzer. Normally he would just walk in, but maybe Prowl didn’t want to be interrupted after all. Maybe Prowl didn’t like his music.

Hearing the brusque “come in,” Jazz steeled his nerves and opened the door.

Prowl spoke before he looked up. “What do you need?... Jazz? What are you doing here?” Prowl’s brow furrowed in confusion. Jazz never rang the bell. He just walked in. Then he saw the instrument in Jazz’s arms and looked at his conjunx, still visibly confused.

Jazz smiled hesitantly. “I thought, since yer still on duty, an’ I’m still figurin’ this out again… ya might want t’ listen?”

Prowl’s face cleared, and his doorwings fluttered. “I am honored you would let me listen to your practice, Jazz.” He said, quietly. “I remember you being very insistent on even me only hearing the finished product.”

Jazz chuckled wryly as he shut and locked the door, taking a seat across from Prowl, propping his pedes up on the desk, which only earned him a fond huff. “We weren’t even bonded then, Prowler. War wasn’t on. That kind of vanity feels a little silly, now.”

Prowl’s wings drooped a little, but quickly returned to their normal place. “Perhaps.” He admitted. “Still, I am pleased that you trust me so much.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Prowler. I get yer company for a couple extra hours.” Jazz flashed a smile at Prowl before focusing on his instrument, slowly strumming out an old Cybertronian love ballad.

Prowl’s doorwings fluttered again as he tried to focus back on his reading, but found himself leaning forward onto his elbows, helm in one hand as he slowly waved his doorwings in time with the music, datapad held loosely in the other as Jazz began to sing.

* * *

Jazz traced lazy patterns on Prowl’s arm plating as they laid together on Jazz’s berth, Prowl cuddling Jazz to himself like an oversized teddy bear. It had been one of those days where the Decepticons became incredibly creative all of a sudden and made Prowl’s tactical center overheat trying to keep up with it all.

Prowl vented deeply and Jazz paused. “Prowler? Ya okay?”

“I am fine, Jazz.” 

“Tha’ didn’t sound fine.”

“I am simply tired.” Prowl hummed lightly into Jazz’s audial. “You must be too.”

“Not as much as ya, I’m sure.” Jazz lied, but the dimming of his visor told a different story.

Prowl hummed once more, knowing the truth, and Jazz offlined his visor as he began tracing the mindless patterns again.

They laid like that for some time before Prowl finally spoke again, a slow, quiet voice barely above a whisper that he only used when he was truly exhausted, or when Jazz had lost an operative.

“ _ So are you to my thoughts as food to life, _

_ Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; _

_ And for the peace of you I hold such strife _

_ As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found. _

_ Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon _

_ Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; _

_ Now counting best to be with you alone, _

_ Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure: _

_ Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, _

_ And by and by clean starved for a look; _

_ Possessing or pursuing no delight _

_ Save what is had, or must from you be took. _

_ Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, _

_ Or gluttoning on all, or all away.” _

Jazz’s frame went beautifully stiff in Prowl’s arms, his venting just a little heavier than normal as Prowl recited. Prowl knew what his voice did to Jazz, he must. Jazz didn’t care what Prowl said, every word was beautiful to him, but to hear Prowl reciting poetry? Romantic poetry? Oh, that was a memory that Jazz hoped never faded from his processor.

When the final word had fallen from Prowl’s lips, Jazz turned over, reaching up and tracing Prowl’s face, visor dimmed, a tiny drop of optic fluid slipping from beneath his visor.

“I didn’t know ya were a Shakespeare fan, Prowler.” Jazz’s voice was soft, almost choked.

Prowl smiled, leaning into the touch, reaching up to wipe away the single tear. “For a human who lived such a short time ago for us and so long ago for the humans, his poetry is... “ Prowl hesitated. “It is applicable.”

“Applicable?” Jazz’s lips twitched in spite of his touched spark as he kept on tracing Prowl’s face.

“To us. It reminds me of us.” Prowl finally finished, blushing just ever so slightly as Jazz’s lips finally blossomed into a smile.

“I love ya, Prowler.”

“I love you too, Jazz.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Person A doesn’t show affection easily, Person B loves making romantic gestures. One time when they cuddle before falling asleep together, person A whispers Shakespeare’s sonnet 75 into Person B’s ear.


End file.
